Ghost in the Razor

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I don’t,” said Caina. “I didn’t even know you were Istarinmul until ten minutes ago when I saw you take off your helmet.”

  “You didn’t?” said Kylon. “You usually know everything.”

  A smile flickered over her lips. “Not everything. I’ve been busy. Kylon…what are you doing here? What happened to you?”

  ###

  Caina watched Kylon, noting the way the muscles in his jaw twitched.

  It had been a year and a half since she had seen him, but he looked as if he had aged five years in that time. He had always been solemn, but now that solemnity had hardened into grimness. In fact, he had last been like this in Calvarium, when he had come to save Thalastre from the dark power of a Dustblade…

  A burst of intuition came to her.

  “Oh, Kylon,” said Caina. “It’s Thalastre, isn’t it?” He nodded, staring at the floor. “Oh, gods. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Before she could stop the impulse she reached out and squeezed his left hand. He looked at her in surprise, his face full of regret and pain, emotions that she knew all too well. For a moment they stared at each other, his fingers hard and callused beneath hers.

  “Thank you,” he said at last, sliding his hand free. “It…those are usually hollow words. But you, I suppose, understand better than anyone what it is like to…to...”

  “How did she die?” said Caina.

  “Nagataaru,” said Kylon.

  Caina went motionless.

  He blinked. “You…know the word, don’t you?”

  “I do,” said Caina.

  “You’ve encountered the nagataaru, then?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I think you should tell me what happened.”

  “Soon after you left New Kyre,” said Kylon, “the Surge summoned me. She said that the Moroaica’s rift had left cracks in the walls between the worlds, that malevolent spirits called the nagataaru could make their way into our world from the netherworld. She gave me the ability to sense the presence of both the nagataaru and the cracks.”

  “Wait,” said Caina. “You can sense nagataaru?” Part of her felt sympathy for his loss and pain. The colder part of her mind noted that such an ability would be useful. The Red Huntress would never have surprised Caina if Kylon had been with her.

  “I can now,” said Kylon. “The wall between the worlds is weakest in New Kyre, thanks to the Moroaica’s spell. Nagataaru feed on pain and death, and I started hunting them down.” He took a deep breath. “And then the embassies came.”

  “Embassies?” said Caina.

  “By then the war between the Empire and the Umbarian Order was in full force,” said Kylon. “The Assembly decided to stay neutral, though several of the Archons and High Seats wanted to attack the Empire while it was weakened. Then two embassies arrived. One from the Umbarian Order, headed by an Umbarian magus named Cassander Nilas…you know him?”

  Hate flickered over his face at the mention of Cassander.

  “All too well,” said Caina. “Go on.”

  “The other was an embassy from the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul, led by a Master Alchemist named Malik Rolukhan.”

  “I know the name,” said Caina. “He’s the Lieutenant of the Inferno.”

  “The Inferno?” said Kylon. “I don’t know the name.”

  “It’s an armory in the mountains of the Vale of Fallen Stars,” said Caina. “A fortress, a prison, a stronghold. It’s where the College of Alchemists take men and transform them into Immortals. The Istarish poets like to say that it is a hell of iron where men are torn apart and remade into monsters.” Considering the cruelty of the Immortals, the description was not wrong. Malik Rolukhan’s reputation was just as fearsome.

  Caina strongly suspected that he was one of Callatas’s disciples.

  “Cassander and Rolukhan proposed an alliance between the Umbarian Order, Istarinmul, and New Kyre,” said Kylon. “He said that one solid blow could shatter the Empire forever, and we could divide its provinces amongst ourselves. I opposed them both.”

  “Because of what happened in Marsis,” said Caina. “Because Andromache and Rezir Shahan made promises like that before.”

  “Exactly,” said Kylon. “And because Malik Rolukhan was possessed by a nagataaru.”

  Caina nodded. “Go on.”

  “I refused to countenance their offer,” said Kylon. “Cassander and the magi of the Umbarian Order reminded me of the Moroaica and her students, and we saw the havoc they wrought. I hoped instead to ally with the Empire against the Umbarians, or at the very least send the Emperor some aid against the Order. I invited some of the most prominent Archons and High Seats to the Tower of Kardamnos to discuss the matter.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “What happened then?” said Caina.

  “Cassander sent an assassin for us,” said Kylon, his voice soft, dead. “A woman, clad all in red leather, her face concealed beneath a mask of red steel…”

  A jolt of dread went through Caina.

  “She had a nagataaru within her, didn’t she?” said Caina. “It gave her the ability to move with superhuman speed and strength. Sometimes she wielded a sword wrought of power, a blade of shadows and purple flame that could cut anything asunder.”

  He stared at her. “How do you know that?”

  “She tried to kill me three months ago,” said Caina.

  “No,” said Kylon. “That’s impossible. I slew her over a year ago.”

  “Damn it,” said Caina.

  “What?” said Kylon.

  “I feared that the Voice – that’s what she calls her nagataaru – might have the power to restore her flesh after a mortal wound,” said Caina. “I suspect that she recovered from her injuries in New Kyre and then made her way here to kill me.”

  “No,” said Kylon, the muscle twitching in his jaw again. “I slew her. You…” He closed his eyes. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Caina.

  Kylon let out a bitter laugh. “All my other hopes turned to ashes, why not this one as well? That was my one comfort. That at least I had avenged my wife, that I had killed the creature that murdered her. I suppose you worked out what happened. The Red Huntress fell upon us like a storm and killed four Archons, nine High Seats, and thirty other prominent citizens with the right to sit in the Assembly. Neither stormdancers nor stormsingers could stand before her. She…stabbed Thalastre through the belly, you see, before she cut her head off. Because she wanted Thalastre to know that her unborn child had died.”

  “Child?” said Caina. “Thalastre was pregnant?”

  Kylon nodded.

  “Gods,” whispered Caina. She remembered how Kalgri had boasted of killing pregnant women in front of their husbands. Seeing Corvalis die in front of her had been awful enough, but Corvalis’s death had stopped the Moroaica and saved the world. Thalastre and her unborn child had died for nothing, for no reason other than to slake the Red Huntress’s bottomless lust for pain and cruelty. “I’m sorry.”

  It was a while before Kylon could speak again.

  “I thought I slew her,” said Kylon, “but I suppose I failed at that, too. It didn’t matter, though. Those murdered men and women had been invited to my Tower, under my seal of hospitality, and I was therefore responsible for their deaths. I always had enemies in the Assembly, and they had an excuse to act. The Assembly voted to depose me as an Archon, strip me of my title as High Seat of House Kardamnos, and exile me from New Kyre for the rest of my days.”

  Again they lapsed into silence.

  “What did you do then?” said Caina.

  “I thought about killing myself,” said Kylon, his voice raw, “but…I couldn’t. Not while Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan still lived. I knew they were behind the attack. So I made my way east, across the lands of the free cities and Anshan to Istarinmul. All I had was the clothes on my back…the Huntress destroyed my sword of storm-forged steel during our fight. I mad
e what little money I could as a caravan guard, and then I realized freeborn men could enter gladiatorial contents. Few gladiators could match me, and I started making money. Finally I made my way here.”

  “A good way to make money,” said Caina. “With your sorcerous abilities, no one could stand against you.”

  Kylon frowned. “I wouldn’t use my powers in the arena. That would be cheating.”

  Despite the grim news, Caina laughed.

  “What is so amusing about that?” said Kylon.

  “It’s not amusing, it’s admirable,” said Caina. “If I were in your position, I would cheat outrageously.” After everything he had endured, his refusal to cheat was…admirable.

  “The money meant nothing,” said Kylon. “I came here to kill Malik Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas. Though…I have not worked out a way to do that.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina, “I can help you with that.”

  Kylon shrugged. “I would be grateful for your help…but there is no need to involve yourself. My personal vendetta is not your responsibility, nor a concern of the Ghosts, I imagine.”

  “Actually,” said Caina, “you may be wrong about that. Tell me what you know about wraithblood.”

  A cloud went over his face. “You noticed that, too? It seems to be a sorcerous drug, distributed to the poor of the city, though I cannot imagine why anyone would go to the trouble.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t tried any,” said Caina.

  “Of course not,” said Kylon. “If I want to forget my failures, I drink myself senseless. Wraithblood addicts eventually seem to get trapped in their worst nightmares.” He shrugged heavily. “I am already living mine.”

  “Wraithblood is made from the blood of murdered slaves,” said Caina. “Grand Master Callatas has been making it in secret for the last five or six years, murdering thousands of slaves.”

  “Why?” said Kylon. “What could he possibly gain from it?”

  “It has something to do with a spell called the Apotheosis,” said Caina. “Callatas apparently has a pact with the nagataaru. Several of his lieutenants are possessed by nagataaru, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he is as well. He rules Istarinmul from behind the scenes, and his every effort has been devoted to finishing this Apotheosis, this grand spell of his.”

  “What does it do?” said Kylon.

  “I have no idea,” said Caina. “Nothing good, I expect. The few times I’ve heard him talk, he speaks about reforming humanity and creating a new and better world.”

  Kylon scowled. “The Umbarians speak many of the same lies.”

  “I heard Cassander speak, as well,” said Caina. “The man is extremely dangerous.”

  “So now you know why I am here,” said Kylon. "To avenge my murdered wife and child and guests, or die in the attempt."

  “Perhaps we can help each other,” said Caina. “We have the same enemies. Rolukhan is one of Callatas’s lieutenants, and Cassander wants us both dead. You want to kill them, and I want to stop the Apotheosis. Our goals overlap.”

  Kylon laughed. “After everything, I am to become a Ghost?”

  “You don’t have to be a Ghost,” said Caina. “I have numerous allies here who are not.” Ibrahaim Nasser and Laertes, among others.

  “You would trust me that far?” said Kylon.

  “Yes,” said Caina without hesitation.

  “You told me once that you didn’t trust me, but you understood me,” said Kylon.

  “That was years ago,” said Caina. “Kylon, we both did our very best to kill each other in Marsis. We stopped Mihaela in Catekharon, and we rescued Thalastre from the Dustblade’s power. We saved the world from Rhames and his Ascendant Bloodcrystal in Caer Magia, and we stopped Sicarion and fought the golden dead together in New Kyre. I know what kind of man you are, and you know what kind of woman I am. After everything we have done together…I think we can trust each other.”

  “You might not want my help,” said Kylon. “I failed, you know. I could not save my wife, nor my unborn child, nor the guests under my protection. Perhaps I will fail you, too.”

  “I fear that is something else we have shared,” said Caina. “I know…I know what it is like to see someone you love die before your eyes. How it feels when there is nothing you can do to help them. How you spend the years after questioning yourself, lying awake at night, wondering if there was something, anything, you could have done differently.” Her right hand curled into a fist, and she made it relax.

  “You understand,” said Kylon. “I failed to save Andromache, and I failed to save Thalastre.”

  “Andromache doomed herself,” said Caina. “And you avenged her.”

  “Perhaps I can yet avenge Thalastre,” said Kylon. “Very well. I shall work with you.” He shrugged. “And you are better at this sort of thing anyway. I was never a spy. I wasn’t even a very good politician.”

  “I would be glad of your help,” said Caina, “and I shall help you however I can.”

  “There is one other thing you should know,” said Kylon. “Before I was banished, the Surge saw me one last time. She would say nothing to me, save to tell me that ‘the silver fire was my only salvation’. Do you know what that means?”

  Caina shook her head. “No. I will ask my informants…but I’ve never heard the phrase before.” She remembered Horemb, Jadriga’s father, and the prediction he had given her. “A spirit in the netherworld gave me a prophecy of sorts. ‘The star is the key to the crystal’. Do you know it?”

  “I fear not,” said Kylon.

  “I’ve been asking,” said Caina. “Apparently it is a line from a poem about the fall of Iramis. Callatas was the one who destroyed Iramis. He has a relic, the Star of Iramis, and he used its power to burn the city to ashes a century and a half ago. I think that is the Star in the prophecy. What the rest of it means…I do not know.” She shook her head. “Damned oracles. What good is seeing the future if you cannot act upon it?”

  “I do not know,” said Kylon.

  Caina nodded and stood, her mind sorting through the possibilities. She was horrified at what Kylon had lost, yet she was very glad he was here. He was a capable warrior, and his ability to sense nagataaru would be invaluable.

  “Caina,” said Kylon, his voice quiet.

  She looked up at him as he rose.

  “I…am glad to see you,” said Kylon. “It may not seem it, but even in Marsis, I respected you as a foe. All the other things that happened after…they only proved that I was not wrong to respect you.” He took a deep breath. “And it is good to see a familiar face. I have not seen a friend since I left New Kyre.”

  “A familiar face?” said Caina. She reached down and retrieved her wig and cap, returning them to her head. “Even beneath the makeup?”

  He smiled a little at that. “Well, familiar after a little work. And your eyes are hard to forget.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. She touched his right arm. “Let’s go. The sooner we’re away from here, the better.”

  “Why?” said Kylon, wrapping a sword belt around his waist. “I don’t have any enemies in the arena.”

  “Maybe not, but you came to Istarinmul to kill some powerful men,” said Caina. “Sooner or later the Teskilati will realize that you are here.”

  “What are the Teskilati?” said Kylon.

  Caina blinked. Kylon was right. He wasn’t a spy. “The Padishah’s secret police and spies. They wiped out Istarinmul’s Ghost circle after Tanzir Shahan made peace with the Emperor. You were a famous man, Kylon, and many people will know you on sight. All it takes is one Teskilati informant recognizing you, and Malik Rolukhan will learn you are here. Cassander Nilas has his own spies in Istarinmul as well.”

  “You’ve been here for a year and a half,” said Kylon, tucking a leather money pouch into his belt. “How are you still alive?”

  “Disguises,” she sat, patting the fake beard upon her chin. “We’ll find one for you.”

  “Ah,” said Kylon. “Do I get a
fake beard, too?”

  She glanced back at him and grinned. “No need. You can grow your own.”

  ###

  Kylon followed Caina from his room, through the barracks, and into the galleries below the Ring of Cyrica. The minute he opened the door, her mannerisms changed. The reserved, quiet woman vanished, and in her place appeared the pompous factor of an Imperial lord. Though his arcane senses, he felt her emotions flicker as she concentrated upon the disguise. Her skills as an actress never failed to astound him.

  “If anyone asks,” murmured Caina. “I have hired you for the personal guard of my employer, Lord Quintus Camwallen of Caeria Ulterior.”

  Kylon nodded. If anyone questioned them, he would let her do the talking. She was better at it, and spoke Istarish more fluently than he did.

  She led the way into the main training room and came to a sudden halt. The room was large, at least twenty yards by twenty, its floor covered in rough sand. Racks along the walls held wooden training weapons, and light poured from skylights overhead. The air in here always smelled faintly of old sweat.

  Six men stood at the far end of the room, clad in chain mail and leather, swords and daggers in their hands. Their eyes were hard and cold, and they fixed upon Kylon with predatory anticipation. Their leader was a huge man, nearly seven feet tall, his face disfigured with scars that pulled his lip into a permanent sneer.

  “They’re Kindred assassins,” said Caina, her voice low, her hand disappearing into her robe.

  “Indeed they are, master merchant,” said a deep, amused voice. “A most astute observation. A pity it shall be your last.”

  A wave of fury went through Kylon. He knew that voice.

  A man in a gold-trimmed robe of brilliant white came into sight, keeping behind the assassins. He had a dark face and a close-trimmed black beard turning to gray at the chin and the temples, and a jeweled turban rested upon his head. He looked dignified and solemn, the very image of a wise Master Alchemist. Kylon sensed the man’s emotions, and he felt the seething pride and arrogant contempt boiling within him.